


Cinch Position

by dynastic



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Porn, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-19
Updated: 2012-04-19
Packaged: 2017-11-03 22:35:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dynastic/pseuds/dynastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a particularly rousing game of pool and several drinks, Prussia and France have sex on top of a pool table at one of America's parties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cinch Position

**Author's Note:**

> Funny story about this fic—I was in math class, of all places, when one of my friends mentioned something about the male French exchange student at our school. And how, according to said male French exchange student, the easiest way to seduce a girl was to "teach" her how to shoot pool. Needless to say, things just went all downhill from there. I do not apologize for the destruction of the pool table.

The parties at America's house in Miami—scratch that, America's _mansion_ in Miami—always had the same frat inspired atmosphere. Not that Prussia minded since they were _high class_ frat inspired mansion parties; a heavily stocked open bar with five kegs, loud hip-hop music blasting through the speakers, the strong fumes from all the weed that Canada always brought wafting throughout the rooms, the throngs of people dancing and mingling together, and of course, America's parties always had the ever present threat of the cops showing up and busting on everyone. 

Certainly, America's parties weren't like his usual haunts, the bars and clubs near his house, but it was a change of scene, and after all, Prussia was completely in support of corrupting today's youth and partying one's ass off after centuries of war, destruction, violence and all the other things one would now find in M-rated video games.

Nonetheless, Prussia looked pretty fucking sexy driving up America's insanely long drive way in Germany's prized Porsche. The same Porsche he'd accidentally stumbled upon the keys of earlier that morning after Germany had left for the supermarket. He grinned as he stepped out of the vehicle, wary to give away the keys to the pimple faced valet, but the loud, tempting sounds of trashy dance music called to him from the depths of America's mansion. 

Oh, and some cutie just passed by him in a little black number, so Prussia felt even more obligated to enter the house now. Saluting the valet with a cocky grin, he strode past the front door. 

The party was in full swing now, and Prussia had managed to arrive fashionably late. Not that it mattered since America's parties didn't end until dawn usually anyway, or at least when everybody was too drunk to move and get a cab, so they ended up crashing all over the place; on the couches, curled up on armchairs, on the stairs, in beds, on tables, desks, on the floor and in some dire cases, the front lawn. America never cared though, thankfully enough. At least, and Prussia wouldn't readily admit it, the kid was relatively hospitable when he wanted to be.

The first thing Prussia noticed when he walked inside America's house was the massive foyer with the chandelier and staircase in the middle. The place was humongous and filled with nations and people alike, all wandering about with drinks in their hands. 

Immediately, Prussia thought to hit up the bar area and grab himself a beer before making his usual rounds of hitting on pretty, young American chicks or playing some beer pong with whoever was willing to challenge him. Naturally, Prussia blamed America for his adoration of the party game after attending one of his parties back in the 90's after the Wall, and he was probably never the same after that, though. That was another story entirely, of course. 

Meandering through the conglomerations of random people, nations, and celebrities, Prussia stumbled upon the drink station situated in the kitchen area of the house. Probably one of many drink stations throughout the entire house, but Prussia figured he'd find something decent there 'cause there was no way in hell he'd drink cheap beer, and _somebody_ had to have brought good booze. Bending over to dig through the coolers stocked with beers and such, Prussia rummaged through the chilly contents until he found an ice cold bottle of Michelob. It'd have to do for now.

Pulling his bottle opener from his pocket, Prussia popped open the beer, depositing the cap on the counter before taking a long swig from the bottle. The liquid slid cold and burning down his throat. He let out a sigh of appreciation before taking another swallow of the beer while his eyes surveyed the room, looking for girls, no doubt. Or guys. It didn't really matter.

Unfortunately, the kitchen proved to be void of girls and guys satisfactory enough for him, so in slight disappointment he moseyed on over to the living rooms. One of them anyway since America seemed to have an endless number of rooms in his house. The living room, thankfully enough, was crammed with people and the place was already starting to smell like weed, beer and sweat. Prussia didn't mind, though. 

Another girl passed by him, her ass encased tightly in a pair of dark wash jeans, and Prussia leaned sideways on the back of the couch to get a better look at her. He nodded in approval, a smirk gracing his lips while he beer started to sweat in between his fingers, cooling them substantially. 

Prussia licked his lips, and called to the girl. "Hey, where you going?"

The girl stopped then turned, and Prussia got a good look at her face. She was quite pretty with long, blond hair that curled in loose waves to frame her face, the heady green irises, red lips, and pale breasts spilling out of a patterned green tank top. For a brief moment, Prussia thought he knew her from somewhere since he rarely forgot a pair of beautiful breasts—ah, a beautiful face. But he couldn't remember exactly where and it was probably a good thing he didn't remember because the girl was walking over to him now. 

Straightening a bit, Prussia gave her one of his trademark smiles, holding his half empty beer bottle a little more tightly. Man, this chick was pretty, and getting even more prettier with each step closer she took to get to him.

Said pretty girl returned the smile, tossing her blond hair a bit as her eyes raked over Prussia's face. "No place special," she said.

"Is that so?" Prussia inclined his head slightly, disallowing his eyes to glance down at her cleavage and instead, he looked at her resolutely green eyes. "I was thinking of going there too," he said, "Care to join me?" 

She tilted his head upwards, her hair swishing slightly, and she looked him over carefully. Then she smiled again. "Yes."

Oh, tonight was going to be a good night indeed.

* * *

It turned out the girl had _a boyfriend_. And, to agitate Prussia some more, he was one of those nerdy rock star types with the glasses, a high sounding voice and incredibly good girlfriend stalking skills. Oh well, at least he wasn't an Edward Cullen type or something 'cause that's even lamer than the nerdy rock star type.

Dejected, Prussia wandered back downstairs and grabbed himself a fresh beer. He attempted not to look completely pissed off at the fact that he was so goddamn close to making a move on the girl in one of the upstairs bedrooms before said nerdy boyfriend walked in on them trying to find the bathroom, and well, he was lucky that he decided against punching the stupid bastard in the face. 

So, once more, Prussia popped off the cap off a fresh beer and took a long swig from it. Things could have been worse—at least the cops hadn't shown up yet, and it wasn't even midnight—but on the bright side, the night was still young. He'd managed not to run into anyone he really knew. No, scratch that. He hadn't run into _Germany_ , who would know right away that he stole the Porsche earlier to get to the party. 

After awhile, Prussia grew tired of roaming the rooms with the huge groups of people, and by then, he had about four beers in his system with slight effects starting to overtake him. Then, on a whim, he wandered upstairs again and started to peruse through the various rooms. Some were unlocked, some were not, some were empty and some were occupied—bedroom, bedroom, bathroom, study, bedroom again, blah blah blah. Prussia couldn't find a room that struck his interest at all.

Eventually, he stopped when he reached the end of the very extensive hallway in front of a red wooden door—a very curious thing since the rest of the doors on the second floor were a dull brown color—with a carved sign on it. A _blank_ , carved sign on it. The door was unlocked and slightly ajar in a very coaxing manner. Prussia obliged and pushed open the door, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the contents inside the room. 

To one side of the room sat a large oak wood pool table, illuminated by one of those circular green bar lamps over the top of it, and then to the other side of the room was a sitting area with a leather couch and two armchairs. There was a fireplace too but it wasn't lit, and judging by it's relatively clean appearance, it probably hadn't been lit in ages. 

Nonetheless, Prussia grinned, and walked over to the pool table, running his free hand over the smooth wooden sides. "Pretty nice," he muttered out loud as his eyes darted to the left where a tall, glass cabinet stood with pool equipment inside it. The cabinet was unlocked too. 

Of course, it was difficult to play pool with one person; impossible, in fact. Unless Prussia felt like practicing for whenever Germany decided to have that pool night they'd been planning for eons now. Their poor, unused pool table; Prussia pitied the fact they'd probably never use it since Germany was always busy. Well, not busy enough to attend America's parties—

"Who let _you_ in?"

Prussia's ear perked up immediately. He'd recognize that voice _anywhere_ since he'd heard it more times than he could count over the last couple hundred years years. So he whirled around, his lip twitching in annoyance. "Francis Bonnefoy," he sneered, enunciating each syllable of the bastard's given human name. "I didn't think that old guys like you still attended parties like this."

France leaned against the open door frame, carrying a glass of wine in his perfectly manicured hand, and he wore one of those familiar smirks that Prussia knew far too well. " _Non._ You act as though I'm as old as Turkey or Greece, _mon mignon_ ," France said, quirking a brow at the other man. 

Dully noting the dress shirt France happened to be wearing, Prussia snorted and rolled his eyes at Frenchman. Bright yellow and blue stripes were a bit difficult to miss, after all. "Right," he said, "At least I don't dress like an old man." He wanted to add an "old gay man" to the comment, but to be completely fair they were in Miami, and pretty much everyone dressed like that. Of course, France had been dressing like that since the goddamn 1920's anyway.

In any case, Prussia would have been much more than mildly amused if France was wearing one of those god-awful sweater vests. Or maybe a dress. Or something even more embarrassing if such a thing existed. Even though Prussia imagined France wore a dress or two back in the day—he wished he could have gotten photographic proof of it. Actually, France probably wore a dress or two _now_ whenever the urge struck him. Alright, maybe. Prussia could ponder it later.

The sweater vest, however, reminded him of England's satanic devotion to the item of clothing. Mostly because the guy wore a different colored one to every world summit meeting. Prussia smirked at the idea of England's closet filled with neat rows of multicolored sweat vests. 

"Is there something on my face, Gilbert?" 

France's sweet drawl rang through Prussia's ears, and he shifted his body against the pool table slightly while his mind jerked back to reality once more. Prussia tilted his head at the other man, discerning that France hadn't moved so much an inch from his spot against the door frame yet, his expression unchanged and his half empty glass of wine cradled in his palm. "Nah," he said as he waved his free hand casually at him. "I was just studying the painting to the left of you."

"Hmm," France hummed, upturning his nose slightly. "Is that so?" he asked, rotating himself to glance at the painting in question. "Ah," he exclaimed quietly, a smile gracing his lips. "A Jackson Pollock piece. I didn't think America even owned art work."

Prussia took that moment to grab another swig from his beer before propping himself up on the edge of the pool table, his legs swinging idly. "Yeah, I love Jackson Pollock," he replied, sounding a little too sardonic for his own good. His eyes traced along France's tall, slim figure—the snugly fit dress shirt coupled with the dark wash jeans that accentuated the curve of France's perfect ass—and oh damn it, France had turned around again. He glanced away from him while taking another sip of his beer to occupy himself before France attempted to bait him again. 

That moment came two minutes later when France spoke, his voice even more dulcet sounding this time, "So, I'll ask again since I'm curious: Who let you into this party, Gilbert?"

Prussia's head snapped back to where France was now standing—near the little bar which he'd failed to notice when he'd entered the room earlier—and he narrowed his eyes at the other man. "The door was practically wide open, Francis."

"How unfortunate. And here I was expecting you to have bribed the bouncer to let you in," France said a little more loudly this time since he had his head buried underneath the bar counter, no doubt looking for more booze. There was a clatter of bottles and France resurfaced with several fresh, cold looking bottles of alcohol. "Whiskey or brandy?"

That made Prussia snort and roll his eyes once more. "Since when does America have _bouncers_ for his parties? You do realize that he's serving alcohol to minors, right? Well, American minors anyway. And I'll have whiskey," he said with a small smirk, thinking of his own alcohol restriction laws. Then he finished off the rest of his beer before speaking again. "Oh, and since _when_ do you drink whiskey or brandy? I thought you preferred wine."

France was pulling out glasses from underneath the bar and filling them each with ice. "Since I started buying it off that English bastard's older brothers awhile back when they realized that they weren't the only ones who enjoyed various kinds of liquor," he replied. "Alcohol is, after all, what makes the world go round, _non_?"

Prussia inhaled, tapping his fingers against the empty glass bottle as he turned his body a bit to look at France. "Tch, damn straight."

Uncorking the bottles, France poured a little whiskey into each of the glasses. "Now, I will digress," he paused, "It baffles me how _you_ got into the party unscathed while they had to search Turkey's person before they let him in."

"I'm just awesome like that. What can I say?" He paused, raising an eyebrow at France. "And did you say that you're here with Turkey? _Why_?" Prussia watched France pour the whiskey into the two glasses, and vaguely, he wondered the last time he'd even had whiskey.

"Well, unlike you, he was actually invited and we decided to come to the party together," France answered coolly, picking up his glass of whiskey and taking a sip from it.

Leaning back slightly, Prussia inhaled and placed his bottle on the clean, green felt of the pool table. "Like a date?" he asked.

France made a choking sound, and placed his glass calmly on the bar counter before shooting Prussia a look. "What does it matter to you? I can come with whoever I want, you know."

Oh, Prussia enjoyed that choking sound far too much, and he rather liked the idea of toying with France a bit. "So, you're fucking him then?" 

France smirked at Prussia, fingers wrapped around the glass of whiskey as he leaned against the bar counter. "We're attempting to promote good relations again since my President is adverse to his entrance to the European Union." 

Well, at least there were always other things that Prussia could him with, and with that, Prussia hopped off the pool table's edge, moving over to the bar counter to grab the other whiskey glass. "So you're fucking him, right?" he asked, and then he almost dropped the whiskey glass when he got a whiff of France's expensive cologne. It was sweet and flowery, but fuck, it smelled wonderful and it was such a pleasantly different smell than the scent of sweat and beer permeating throughout the house. Prussia managed to keep his composure by taking a drink of the whiskey, ice clinking noisily against the glass as it cleared his head quite quickly. 

Letting out a small, short laugh, France simply flickered his blue eyes over Prussia and took another sip from his glass, a small, smug smile gracing his lips. "I have to keep myself busy during these difficult economic times, don't I?" 

Prussia snorted. Figures.

Leaning over, Prussia rested his side against the bar, ignoring the bar stool beside him and sized France up. "So, lemme get this straight: You're sleeping with Turkey, and you came with him to this party where he got searched by America's guys," and Prussia paused for dramatic effect, "But said Turkish man is nowhere in sight—"

"He found Greece downstairs," France interrupted, forcing a smile to his lips before burying himself in his drink again.

Prussia nodded. "No need to say anymore then," he said, mildly amused at the idea of France being stood up in front of an entire crowd of strangers. Not that it hadn't happened before, but it was still rather amusing.

"It's not a loss, really," France sighed, tapping his fingers against his glass. "May I remind you that we were merely sleeping together, and not _dating_ each other. I don't date people. You should know that, _mon chéri_ ," France said defensively.

"I didn't say anything about you _dating_ him." Prussia took another swig of the whiskey, emptying the glass. He reached for the bottle and poured himself some more, glancing up at France's blue eyes when he finished. 

France sighed, brushing a piece of his own hair out of his face and looked over at the cabinet containing the pool equipment. "Humph."

"And at least I don't raid people's bars after I've been dumped." Prussia knew that that was such a fucking lie, but he didn't care because the whiskey was sliding amazingly well down his throat. There had been one too many incidents at previous parties when potential hook ups had not gone the way he'd wanted, and the host's entire bar ended up being emptied silly with Prussia passed out on the front lawn in his boxers. Or without his boxers on some occasions. 

"I wasn't aware that anyone else did that besides you," France replied pointedly, glancing back at Prussia again as he picked up his tumbler of whiskey. 

"Least I ain't an alcoholic like England," Prussia retorted quickly, shooting a glare at the Frenchman. "That guy drinks like it's his last day on Earth."

France chuckled. "I believe we can atone that to America's whole existence."

"And yours," Prussia added, grinning at him. 

"Oh, I couldn't possibly take credit for that." France was filling up his whiskey glass again. The bottle was more than half empty now. "Of course, I suppose I could since the bastard deserves as much misery as physically possible, and to be half the reason for his drinking problem, well then I think it makes me special…"

Prussia grinned as he watched France raise the drink to his lips again, and suddenly, an idea occurred to him that should have appeared in his mind earlier. He glanced behind him at the lonely pool table and then at the cabinet with the pool equipment to the right of him. "You wanna play?"

"Pardon?" France put down the bottle of whiskey, looking at Prussia curiously.

"Pool," Prussia said, leaning forward on his elbows in earnest on the bar counter top. 

France studied Prussia's expression some more then a smile graced his lips. "Perhaps."

* * *

France really sucked at shooting pool.

Then again, Prussia wasn't expecting fierce competition anyway and enjoyed teasing him about his lack of "skills." It made the game move faster, and by the time they had finished the first game, the entire bottle of whiskey was empty and they'd moved onto the bottle of brandy instead. France managed to hold up quite well, much to Prussia's surprise, and they started playing the second game without many qualms. 

At the same time, however, whenever France bent over the table to make his shot, he always gave Prussia a fantastic view of his ass. Prussia knew he was doing it on purpose after France started to wiggle it slightly sometime after his third shot of the first game, and he was stupid to even doubt that France wasn't aiming for something else—a _different_ kind of cue sticks, for lack of a better word. Things were getting ridiculous though, and Prussia didn't hesitate to change up the situation at all.

"You really suck at this," Prussia said, his words starting to slur now. 

Now it was France's turn to snort as he made another crap shot, only hitting one of the colored balls into the pockets. "You're not an expert either, _mon mignon_."

Prussia gave France an indignant look. "I'm _awesome_ at it, thank you very much," he corrected. "I've hung around enough bars to learn how to shoot pool properly," then he paused to make his shot, "And to get good at it too. I even taught West how to play." He grinned as several colored balls went sailing into one of the corner pockets, and then he glanced over at France standing a few feet away, legs spread slightly while he leaned forward with his hands resting on the end of the cue stick.

"You taught Germany how to play?" France asked teasingly. "How _brotherly_ of you, Prussia." He straightened, reached over to the bar counter to grab his tumbler another sip. 

"Yeah, yeah," Prussia grumbled, picking up his glass of whiskey and brought it to his lips. "He wanted to learn so I taught him. Ages ago though," he added before draining half the glasses.

France merely chuckled, wandering back to the table again. "I find that rather endearing," he said, studying the position of the balls as he contemplated his next shot.

"Tch, shut up." Crossing his arms over his chest, Prussia cast another look at France. "Make your goddamn shot already, France."

"I'm not going to win, though," France whined mockingly, attempting to hide his smirk. "I want to win, _mon chéri_." 

"I ain't merciful when it comes to games of pool." Prussia tilted his head and leaned against the pool table's edge. "Make your shot so I can claim my victory again."

France tossed his blond hair impudently and moved over to the pool table once more, bending over the table to make his shot. "So demanding," he murmured as he promptly missed the white ball and made a lovely dent in the felt. 

As Prussia observed France bend over, sticking out that rather nice ass of his at him, and attempt to make his shot, he received another brilliant idea and a much sexier one at that. He cleared his throat and uncrossed his arms. "Perhaps I should teach you," he said to France, a slightly wicked grin spreading over his face. 

"Teach me?" France stood up and gave Prussia a quizzical look before letting it subside a moment later. "Why?"

"So that I don't have to watch you suck at pool for the rest of the night," Prussia lied, knowing full well if things went accordingly, they wouldn't be playing pool at all. "I mean, you should be thankful that I'm going to show you some of my awesome skills," he said as he surveyed France's expression, realizing rather quickly that he wasn't the only one who knew where things were possibly going. 

France studied him then chuckled in amusement. "Is that really your best attempt to seduce me, _Gilbert_?" 

"I was following the belief that the easiest way to seduce a girl was to teach how to shoot pool, _Francis_ ," Prussia replied jokingly, inching himself closer to France. 

"It's probably a good thing I'm not a girl then. I see right through your act, _mon mignon_ ," France purred. "I'm not the one who is seduced either. Usually it's the other way around."

Prussia moved closer, a slight swagger to his step as he dropped his pool cue to his side. "I think you're complaining about this too much," he said, licking his lips. He could smell France's cologne wafting off his body, and he noticed the neat patch of stumble on his chin was close enough to touch now. 

"Oh, trust me, I'm not," France said, his voice descending into a lower, sultry-sounding tone while he reached out and rested a hand on Prussia's waist, tugging the other man closer. "I don't mind at all."

Complying to the tug, Prussia grinned and drew his hand around France's neck, pulling their faces just centimeters away from one another. He could smell the alcohol on France's warm breath and he let the cue stick fall from his hand, clattering against the hardwood floor. "Good," he murmured, letting his lips brush against France's as his eyes shut halfway. "Now shut up already."

France chuckled, lowering his eyes and grazing his lips lightly against Prussia's, murmuring, "With pleasure." Then, without further ado, France parted his lips slightly and kissed Prussia heatedly, slipping his arms around his waist. 

Luckily for Prussia, France's kissing skills made up for his awful pool playing skills. Not that he had doubted them in the past, but he'd never been curious enough to find seek them out for himself. Or at least he'd never drunk enough to find out. 

Alright, that last bit was a lie, and he recalled one incredibly long night involving Spain, several bottles of tequila and rum, some hookers, a bunch of unripened tomatoes and then jumping off a boat dock stark naked. That was another story, though. 

Still, France could kiss well even while heavily intoxicated, and Prussia found himself wrapping his arms around the other man's neck, engulfing himself in the warm taste of alcohol and the smell of cologne and sweat. It was enough to smother Prussia's senses, make him lose control and spiral downwards. He pressed himself tightly against France's body, reveling in the warmth before parting his lips too and deepening the kiss.

France didn't hesitate in shoving his tongue into Prussia's mouth once both their lips were parted, and well, Prussia figured out why the hell they called it a "French kiss" quite quickly. Hands slid firmly over Prussia's backside, slipping underneath his black t-shirt and feeling out his balmy skin. Prussia couldn't help but groan contentedly, pressing his tongue into France's mouth too while a small part of his mind, the part he tended to ignore, asked him why in Fritz's good name he was making out with _France_ , of all people. That question was soon answered when France dragged his nails over Prussia's back, eliciting a gasp which was promptly sealed off with another crushing kiss. 

Weaving his fingers into France's soft blond locks, Prussia's body was pressed flush against him, and he pulled away from the other man's lips, desperate for air. Something—alright, Prussia didn't need to wonder what exactly—rubbed against his upper thigh, and he smirked, eyes half lidded with lust. He wanted to say something, but the words refused to form in his throat, so he compromised by moving his one hand from France's hair to his groin, cupping him through the denim. 

"A-ah _yes_ ," France hissed, gasping and bucking his hips into Prussia's hand, almost dropping his own hands from their hold on Prussia's lower back. 

Oh, did Prussia like the way France bucked into his hand. And he squeezed him again, listening to those divine gasps and hisses escaping from the other's lips. Then he leaned forward to kiss France's reddened mouth once more, slipping his tongue deep inside. Maneuvering his other hand away from France's hair and to his chest, he pushed him back as gently as he would allow himself against the side of the pool table until he was sure that France's back was compressed tightly against it. 

Prussia moved in front of France then, relentlessly grinding his hips while he worked his hands underneath his shirt, shoving it up to expose the skin. He'd forgotten, in the moment of ecstasy, about the goddamn buttons and figured he could just tear the thing off instead. Crushing his lips against France's, he started to tug at his shirt insistently until his fingers found the buttons. He could feel France protesting against his lips, and he could hear France's voice inside his head complaining about his mangled shirt.

Buttons went flying onto the floor as Prussia slid his fingers in between the gaps, pulling apart the shirt and exposing France's chest. Warm, sweaty hands drove up underneath the back of his shirt, and he arched into them as France pulled away, lips wet with saliva.

" _Putain_! That was a new shirt, Gilbert," France murmured, clearly trying to sound annoyed about his now button-less shirt. "You're buying me a new—"

"Shut up," Prussia snarled, placing his hand firmly on France's chest before giving him a push. "Get on the table."

France tilted his head back slightly at him, his back starting to ache from being pressed against the side of the pool table. " _Fils de pute_ ," France muttered, giving Prussia a slight shove backwards before hoisting himself up onto the table and pushing away the colored balls in his way. 

"Tch, enough with the insults already," Prussia growled before climbing on top too, crawling over to France again before moving into between his legs. Repositioning his hand on France's chest, he pushed him roughly down onto the table, letting France's head hit the table with a soft thud.

"Ah! Watch it," France said reproachfully, propping himself up on his elbows, shooting Prussia a small glare.

Prussia didn't reply, and only leaned forward to kiss France again, forcing his tongue back into his mouth, heatedly. Sliding his hands down France's bare chest, he didn't waste time in beginning to unbutton and unzip his jeans, listening to the quiet snap and zip sounds. 

Reeling his head back slightly, lips wet and swollen, France tried to catch his breath, a small grin gracing his lips as he reached around Prussia's backside, grazing his sweaty palms over his rough skin. He inhaled sharply, feeling Prussia's hands working away his tight jeans, letting cool air hit his skin, and he wriggled his hips a bit in anticipation. 

Tugging down France's jeans, Prussia's quirked an eyebrow when he saw the trail of hair and half hard cock beneath it. "Tch, figures you'd go commando," he said, pulling France's jeans past his knees. 

" _Mais bien sûr, mon chéri_ ," France purred, lifting his hips and kicking away his jeans along with his shoes and socks, hearing them drop onto the hard wood floor. In the back of his mind, he knew his pants would be wrinkled when he went to pick them up afterward.

Prussia snorted then sat back slightly, tugging his shirt up and over his head, tossing it on the other side of the pool table. Then he pulled off his socks and boots, pushing them aside before refocusing his attention on France again.

"Going to take off your pants too?" France teased, sliding forward while his hands dived for Prussia's jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them with ease and yanking them past his thighs. He ran his palm over the front of Prussia's boxers, patting the growing bulge. 

Hissing from France's touch, Prussia shot him a glare as his body betrayed him, arching into the other man's hand. "S-Shut up," he said again, a little halfhearted this time. 

A small laugh escaped from France's throat, "I think you just like telling me to shut up," he said, giving Prussia's thinly covered erection a playful squeeze before dipping his hand past the fabric as he leaned closer, his fingers wrapping around Prussia's cock.

Coherent words failed Prussia as France's obscenely warm hand wrapped around his cock, and he wanted to retort but all he could do, all he allowed himself to do, was buck into the other man's hand, a low groan slipping past his lips. " _Fuck_ ," he breathed, leaning forward to curl his hand around France's half-hard cock in retaliation before giving him a teasing stroke of his palm.

France leaned forward, fingers firmly curled and moving up and down on Prussia's cock, and using his other hand to bring the other man's face closer, he pressed their lips together heatedly. The kiss was messy and hungry, but he could easily blame that on the alcohol coursing through their systems. 

Groaning against France's lips, Prussia edged himself into the other man's lap, laying on top of him while he stroked his cock and kissed him, tasting alcohol and cologne and other rather delicious things. France's body was, much to Prussia's surprise, warm and oddly comfortable, and he couldn't help but crave more skin-on-skin contact as they jerked each other off. 

Eventually, Prussia broke their kiss, cheeks flushed and hot. "Do you have stuff?" he asked, breathless and panting as he rubbed the tip of France's cock, feeling precome seep from it onto his fingertips. Of course, the question was a little inane since this _was_ France, and had Prussia been in a more coherent mindset, he would have realized that the guy probably carried around a whole sex shop in the pockets of his jeans. 

Letting out a small laugh, France opened his eyes, amused by the question. "I always come prepared, _mon petit chou_ ," he said, stretching his hand out towards his pants, grabbing onto them before pulling out a tiny bottle of lubricant from the pocket. He held it out to Prussia, looking up at him with a small, sly smile on his face.

Wordlessly, Prussia ripped the bottle out of France's fingers the moment he held it out to him. He uncapped it and squeezed some lubricant into his palm before liberally coating his cock because, as he figured it, all that finger stretching stuff was a waste of time as far as he was concerned and France was practically _begging for it_ with that stupid, devious smile. 

So, Prussia inched himself forward, grabbing onto France's legs and wrapping them around his waist. Then, without further hesitation, he pressed the tip of his cock against France's entrance and pushed himself inside, letting out a low groan. Eyes widening as Prussia slid himself inch-by-inch inside France, he couldn't find the words to describe the tightness, the heat, the intensity and all the other things that his senses were currently absorbing right about now, and frankly, he didn't care to find them either. It was, to put it simply, _very awesome_ if there was ever a better word in the dictionary, and it was definitely the only redeemable thing of the entire night thus far.

Arching his head backwards against the hard pool table, cushioned only by the light covering of green felt, France's eyes widened and he let out a strangled groan of undoubted pain. " _Putain_ ," he gasped, clawing at Prussia's backside, his eyes narrowing at him. " _M-merde!_ N-not even going to stretch me? _Fils de pute_..."

Prussia smirked and shoved himself further inside, eliciting moans and gasps from France. "You don't deserve the honor, Francis," he sneered, jerking his hips. "Besides, you're practically wide open anyway." 

Of course, Prussia knew that France was in pain but to be quite honest, he didn't give a fuck and began to move anyway, thrusting deeply and quickly, bracing one hand on France's hip while the other hand wrapped around the other man's unattended cock. 

Ignoring Prussia's sneering, a slew of curses escaped from France's lips as Prussia began to move, and despite the pain coursing through his body, he rocked his hips along with Prussia's. " _A-ah—plus! S'il vous plaît,_ " France moaned needfully, his lower body wriggling on top of the table, eliciting a soft creak from the table's legs.

"Yeah, yeah," Prussia panted as he dug his fingernails into France's sides, Prussia moved faster, escalating to that heavily desired plateau. He looked down at France sprawled before him, undignified and shameless, and he smirked that infamous, smug smirk at him as their hips rocked together rhythmically.

France continued to scratch at Prussia's shoulders and upper back, grappling desperately at his skin as their bodies pressed together, creating an unbearably searing hot friction between them. Groaning and gasping, his hips arched upwards and downwards, trying to meet both Prussia's cock and his hand, utterly tortured by the stimulation as more precome streamed from the tip of his cock.

"H-hah, fuck," Prussia murmured, burying his face against France's shoulder, panting heavily as his hips snapped back and forth, slamming inside relentlessly as his own muscles began to tighten, undeniably close to his climax now.

Their bodies worked together, rocking back and forth as moans and gasps escaped from their lips, the pool table creaking ominously beneath them. 

Jerking his hips, France moaned, "Go f-faster— _nngh_!" 

"I am, dammit!" Prussia growled into his ear, thinking if he went any faster then the table would collapse with them on top of it. Not that he, you know, cared about the pool table since it wasn't his to begin with anyway. 

Of course, with Prussia's luck the table _would_ collapse right underneath before they even got to—

"A-ah— _yes_!" 

_Fucking finally._

White and sticky warmth splattered all over both of their stomachs coupled by a low moan from France's lips, his lower limbs trembling from the pleasure beneath Prussia. Not a moment later, Prussia released as well, slamming inside France firmly as he let out a loud groan and spilled himself, reveling in the sensations coursing through his body before giving out on top of France, panting heavily.

They laid there in their own mess for a good five minutes, catching their breaths, the sounds of the party downstairs wafting through the walls. 

Lifting his head a little, Prussia spoke first, "Your elbow is jabbing—"

And then, in the most well-timed comedic delivery ever, there was a loud snap from the one end of the table and the table went crashing onto the floor with one of the loudest thud sounds Prussia had ever heard, if only for the fact that it was right beside his ear. 

France let out a groan, his back slamming onto the felt and the wood behind it, closing his eyes. " _Putain_ ," he said, bringing his arm to cover his eyes, smiling a bit. "We... broke the table."

Prussia just laughed.

* * *

**EPILOGUE**

"Oh, come on, Arthur, you're not going to kick my ass this time," America said, giving England a skeptical look as he opened the door and stepped inside the room.

"I doubt it," England replied, peering over past America's broad shoulders, raising an eyebrow. "Alfred."

America was still facing England, back to the room. "What?"

"I think you're going to be needing a new billiards table, mate."

* * *

**Notes:**  
\- _Cinch Position:_ A cue sports term meaning to play a shot using a more difficult application of stroke and speed to achieve a certain desired position for the next shot, even at the expense of or sharply increasing the likelihood of a miss.

\- _Jackson Pollock:_ An influential American painter and a major figure in the abstract expressionist movement. 

\- _England's Older Brothers:_ Referring to Scotland and Ireland.

\- _French-Turkish Relations:_ In general, Turkey and France have had relatively good relations with another for the last couple decades, but lately, things have been particularly strained since the French President, Nicolas Sarkozy, declared that himself not in favor of Turkey's entrance to the EU (European Union).


End file.
